


We Were Told To Burn the World (Falling In Love Was Never an Option)

by asenseofpoisonedrationality



Series: The World is Ours to Destroy [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Character Deaths, F/M, M/M, like very first paragraph, russian assassin au, this is your warning, wait thats not an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:19:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asenseofpoisonedrationality/pseuds/asenseofpoisonedrationality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had orders, they had to follow them.  They weren't supposed to feel anything for their targets.  Feelings got in the way.  Feelings were distractions.  Complications. </p><p>It wasn't every day that the Military Police had cause to step onto the grounds of one of the most secure Army bases in the US.  But then again it also wasn't every day a young lieutenant was murdered in broad daylight in front of his house on said army base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Told To Burn the World (Falling In Love Was Never an Option)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. I needed to write something and this wouldn't leave me alone. Also there should be more porn but I was too tired to write it, I may go back and add it later, but here have this for now
> 
> *shoves fic at you and runs away*
> 
> (sorry if it sucks)

It wasn’t every day that the Military Police had cause to step onto the grounds of one of the most secure Army bases in the US. But then again it also wasn’t every day a young lieutenant was murdered in broad daylight in front of his house on said army base. Or that his wife was then found upstairs in the bathtub, her wrists slit in an apparent suicide.

James Buchanan Barnes-Rogers smiled politely as the MPs thanked him for his time, telling them he’d be in touch if he recalled anything suspicious. He turned and went back into his own house, a vicious smirk playing on his lips as the door closed behind him. He reached up under his shirt, detaching his mechanical arm, throwing it on the couch. Damn thing was glitching again. He heard the front door open.

“Buck, you home?” His husband crossed the threshold, tense frame visibly relaxing as he spotted Bucky. The blonde crossed the room in two large strides, gathering the other man into an almost too-tight embrace. “Thank-god you’re okay. I heard what happened to the Bartons and I thought...” He trailed off as he pulled back, hands moving to frame Bucky’s face.

“Stevie, I’m fine.” He reached up and placed his own hands over Steve’s, thumbs rubbing reassuringly over his husband’s wrists. He looked into those big blue eyes, full of worry, and couldn’t resist leaning in to press their lips together. He felt Steve’s frame relax further as he moaned and leaned into the kiss. 

“Now get upstairs and out of those fatigues.” Bucky said, turning Steve around by his shoulders, “ And take a shower, you stink” he added, slapping Steve’s ass for good measure. The blonde flashed him a small smile over his shoulder, obviously still shaken.

When Steve returned, Bucky was sitting on the couch, with pizza and beer, and the old-fashioned radio turned to some classical music channel Steve liked. Bucky knew him so well. God he loved him so much. When his subaltern had come up to him and told him the news about Clint and Yelena, his had felt his heart stop. Bucky always went over to Yelena’s on a Wednesday, to play cards with her and Natasha. He’d ran all the way from the training grounds, only to see his neighbours’ house taped off, with a bunch of MPs milling in and out and a coroner’s van out front.

If Bucky had been in one of those body bags...Steve wasn’t sure what he would have done. He walked over to the couch, flopping down and pulling his husband close to him, pressing a kiss to his hair. He shifted to pick up a beer when he felt something uncomfortable. He reached behind himself and found Bucky’s artificial arm.

“Hey, something wrong with the arm?” He asked, concerned. 

“Mm. S’just givin’ me a few shocks now an’ again” He mumbled into Steve’s chest.

“What? Buck, why didn’t you say something? I’ll have Stark take a look at it.” Bucky’s reply was muffled by Steve’s shirt, so Steve shifted forcing Bucky to look up at him, unhappy about being moved. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Bucky to repeat himself. 

The other man frowned and sighed exasperatedly, before repeating, 

”I said, that’s kinda the problem. You taking it to Stark”. Bucky’s index finger traced random patterns on Steve’s chest, the corners of his mouth were downturned, and he wouldn’t meet his lover’s eyes.

“Oh, Buck. Not this again-“

“Come on, Steve. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he touches you. And you’re either too damned innocent to notice or too polite to tell him fuck off-“

“Bucky, please.” Steve grabbed his hands, holding them in his own. “Tony has never made a move on me,” Bucky scoffs indignantly, but Steve silences him with a look, “And even if he did, I love you. I married you. And I would never betray that, not for anything. You know I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Don’t you trust me?”

It was the sheer, unadulterated hurt in his husband’s voice that made Bucky finally look up. He’d once told himself he’d stop Steve looking so heartbroken ever again. Looks like he’s screwed that up. His hand went automatically to Steve’s hair, fingers coming through it as he spoke.

“God. Baby, of course I do. It’s him I don’t trust. Every time I see him, he has his grubby paws all over you and I...I just see red.” He pulled Steve in for a kiss, chaste but filled with passion. “I don’t want you to have to spend any more time with him than necessary. I just, couldn’t bear to lose you, whether it’s to war, or to someone else. I’m not sure I could live with that.” He spoke the last part so quietly he wasn’t sure if Steve had even heard it. But when the larger man pulled him into a crushing hug, he knew he had.  
Steve pressed a kiss to his neck, “I’ll have Jefferson take it to Stark in the morning, how’s that?”

“Better.” Bucky smiled into Steve’s shoulder. They pulled back, sharing a brief kiss, before turning back to the forgotten pizza and beer. Bucky watched his husband open and close his mouth several times, clearly wanting to say something, but not sure just how to say it 

“So, how’re you doing, after everything today? I know you were close to them” he eventually settled on. Bucky sighed, he knew he’d have to talk about it at some point.

“They were your friends too, I should be asking you the same thing.” He deflected.

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t...uh, I mean you, uh, saw Yelena practically every day and I-“ Steve wasn’t able to meet his eyes, looking anywhere but at Bucky, the beer in his hand trembling ever so slightly.

Oh.

“You thought I was there. When it happened, you thought I was- God, Steve, look at me. I was nowhere near that house today. Nat cancelled our game last night, said she wasn’t feeling great. ‘Lena said it was fine, since it was getting close to their anniversary she wanted to surprise Clint. In the afternoon I took Nat some of that soup she likes, and when I got back the cops had already shown up. I wasn’t even at home when it happened, Stevie.” He took the bottle from his husband’s hand and climbed into his lap.

“I’m fine. It’s okay, I’m right here. I just hope they catch the bastard who did this, and soon. Don’t worry about it. We’re both here, and we’re safe.” He bent down and kissed Steve again, this time filled with intent to distract him and it seemed to be working. Steve relaxed in his arms, and allowed Bucky to man-handle him into a horizontal position on the couch. They spent the night like that, exchanging soft touches and warm kisses, nothing sexual, just comforting.

Bucky watched Steve drift into a peaceful sleep, his frown lines disappearing. He felt a pang of guilt deep in his gut.

He’d always hated lying to Steve.

***

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had orders, they had to follow them. They weren’t supposed to feel anything for their targets. Feelings got in the way. Feelings were distractions. Complications. Yelena knew that. She knew they’d have to eliminate her at the first sign of weakness. She’d fallen for the American, and now she’d have to die.

It was an honour, in a way. To have her comrades kill her. Suicide was never an option. It was messy, pathetic, pitiful even, for people like them. But to have her murder disguised as a suicide would maintain not only her cover but Natasha and James’ too. Her last great service to the Motherland was her death. That was satisfactory.

It was all that mattered, in the end.  
***  
Bucky waited on the large green in front of the residences. He sat against a tree, his arm slung over his knee. He spotted the redhead as she appeared in the edges of his vision. He didn’t turn to look at her, maintaining an unreadable expression as she approached and sat down beside him.

“You know it was necessary” she said without preamble. That was Natasha all over. No bullshitting, straight to the point. Under any other circumstance, James would have smiled.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He returned.

“No.” That was the closest he would get to an agreement, so he changed the direction of the conversation.

“Is everything else still on schedule?”

“No reason it shouldn’t be. We have less than a week left. Prepare yourself, James.”

“We’ve been preparing for this our whole lives, Nat. I ain’t about to get jumpy now”, he scoffed indignantly.

“I know you’ve gotten... attached to Steve, if you are unable to carry out-“

“Attached? Ha!” Bucky sneered, “The guy’s a good fuck is all. Just seems a shame to terminate such a valuable skill set.” He finished, with a wink.

Natasha didn’t look convinced by this, but she did seem somewhat placated. “You still got the draft?”

“Ready and waiting. Friday night?”

“Friday.” She confirmed.  
***  
Colonel Fury’s funeral was to be held on the Saturday in Washington DC. The whole thing was a lavish state affair, being that the Colonel had headed the US Armed Forces for the past forty years. It was all a part of the plan. A state funeral for someone of importance would require the presence of most of the military’s higher-ups, as well as the President of the United States and a few other world leaders.

The perfect opportunity for a couple of sleeper assassins to bring this country to its knees.

Yasha, Natalia and Yelena were the best secret operatives the Russians had ever had in America. Each one had managed to infiltrate one of the most secure and secretive Army bases in the world, by doing what came easiest to them. Spreading their legs. Soldiers were the easiest, after long tours they wanted to be touched and held, or have someone listen to the horrors they had seen without judging. Some had developed a hero complex, and appealing to that part of a soldier was even easier than bending over.

Yelena had been first. Having grown up in America, she became an FBI Agent, working mostly in international affairs. It hadn’t been difficult for her superiors to arrange a kidnapping for her and several colleagues, knowing that the Americans would send only the best people after their own.

They didn’t disappoint.

A special commando unit comprised of army, navy, marine and even air force had been tasked with bringing the FBI agents back alive. A young lieutenant named Clint Barton had carried a badly beaten Yelena from her imprisonment. And the rest was history.

Natalia had defected, and entered America seeking asylum from the Russian mob, who wanted to kill her. She turned over all the information she had to the FBI. Most of it fake, of course. But Yelena was able to ensure that her story checked out. She’d settled down, and become a Russian interpreter/ language teacher at a university where she met Dr Banner, a brilliant scientist and lecturer who, in his spare time, was tasked with top secret military grade experiments, often disappearing into an army base for weeks on end. It wasn’t much of a stretch from there.

Yasha. Yasha was creative. Having grown up in a an American children’s home, he enlisted in the army when he came of age, becoming one of the best snipers the US military had ever seen, working his way up to become a part of the secretive wing of the armed forces. He’d been with the Howling Commandos only a few short years before he threw himself on top of an IED (deliberately, of course), blowing his left arm clean off his shoulder, and resulting in him being retired from active duty. He was returned to base on full medical leave and took up a position as a consultant. When DADT was repealed, his relationship with Captain Steven Rogers, head of the commando unit, came into the open.

All three had snagged targets valuable to the military, who would not only give them inside information, but their eventual deaths would both shock and cripple the army. After that it was just a matter of getting to Washington in time to assassinate a few politicians and military leaders, before returning victorious to the Motherland, leaving a broken and burning America in their wake.

***

Bucky walked into their bedroom early on Friday evening, and what he saw made him stop dead. Steve was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his military dress jacket and seemingly wearing nothing else. Bucky had to shake himself before he could even think about speaking. So he’d developed a bit of a military kink, who could blame him?

“Please tell me you’re not wearing any underwear?” He may have squeaked just a little bit, not that Steve would ever call him on it. The blonde turned, his cheeks tinting pink.

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” And oh, that devilish smirk did not belong on the face of someone so innocent and straight-laced. Bucky would just have to put that mouth to better use. He stalked over and pulled Steve forward by his lapels, mindful of the many ribbons adorning the jacket.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the spontaneous game of dress-up, but what’s all this for?” Bucky asked, curious.

“Colonel Fury’s funeral is tomorrow-“

“And you’re going? I didn’t even know you knew the general.”

“Yeah, he took me under his wing when I enlisted, back when I was a skinny little guy everyone else laughed at. He helped me become the man I am today.”

“Wow.” Was all Bucky said. His internal monologue had become something closer to i/shitshitmotherfuckingshitshittingfuck/i. Killing several diplomats and politicians in the middle of a state funeral was one thing, but a highly decorated army captain and close personal friend of the deceased didn’t turn up to the funeral, suspicions would be raised early on. It would only take one call for someone to be sent over to the house to check, and they’d find Steve’s body. There wouldn’t be time for him to hide it later.

He could feel the small bottle in his back pocket. He’d meant to administer the poisonous draft into his husband’s nightcap before they spent their last night together, but now.... Could he even kill Steve? Did he even want to? 

Later. He could think more about this later. Right now he had an almost naked soldier in front of him, and he wasn’t about to let the man leave this world without a bang. Pun most definitely intended. 

“Well,” he said, his voice a low purr, “Maybe we should hang this up so that it doesn’t get...” His hands reached up to push the jacket from Steve’s shoulders. “creased.” He turned and hung the jacket carefully, before turning back to his husband with a seductive grin. He walked Steve backwards until he fell on the bed, dropping to his own knees on the mattress crawling up the other man’s body, trailing kisses as he went.

He was going to miss this. Steve was the most responsive lover he’d ever had. Sometimes he’d even let himself think that this was real, that he wasn’t just seducing a mark, that they really had been two soldiers hiding from who they were. A real love-in-the-trenches type thing. As he presses his lips to Steve’s, the captain opening his mouth for him so easily, welcoming everything that Bucky has to give, Bucky realises that for the first time he won’t be able to watch someone die. He can’t be there when this beautiful man gives his last breath. 

He’s supposed to. It’s part of their orders, to ensure the marks are dead and no one can follow them or get in their way. Shoot if necessary. If time was running out and the drugs hadn’t done the job yet, they were supposed to get their hands dirty.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Steve rolled them over, never breaking the kiss, and starting grinding his hips down onto Bucky’s. 

“God, yes, Steve.” 

If this was the last time he’d ever get to have this, Bucky sure as hell wasn’t going to be dumb enough to waste it.

***

James slipped out of the house dressed head to toe in black. He waited until he heard the signal, before running across the green to the rendezvous point. Natasha was there waiting for him. He wouldn’t look at her. Using her hand, she forced his chin up so she could look into his eyes. She seemed concerned. He waved her off.

i/It’s done/i, he signed. i/Let’s get out of here./i

***

Several hours later, James was crouched in the beams of the historical church which held Fury’s funeral, silenced automatic balanced skilfully on a rafter. Natasha was on the balcony. Her body cooling in a pool of her own blood. She’d been given orders to kill him. But that was okay. He had orders to kill her too.

She’d hesitated.

That was her first and last mistake.

He’d miss her. She was a friend. But he’d done worse in the name of the Motherland. Hell, he’d killed the love of his life in the name of orders, what did anything matter after that? After killing Natalia, he’d finally been able to admit to himself that he had been in love the idiot. It was better this way. If he’d realised it before, he’d have ended up like Yelena, and then what use would he be?

He lined up the first shot, took it. No one noticed as the man slumped in his seat. James smirked. Second shot, some commotion. Third. Fourth. Fifth. Rapid succession. Final shot, the President. Head shot. Perfect. He gave himself ten out of ten for execution. Ha. Pun not intended, just a happy coincidence.

Suddenly a rumble shook the building, and a deafening crash had him covering his ears. Bomb. They hadn’t planted a bomb. What the fuck? He grabbed his rifle jumped down to the balcony and headed for the roof exit. 

***

Dressed in plain clothes, he arrived at the port, ready to see some of his comrades for the first time in thirty years. They’d celebrate with shots of vodka, and swear loudly in Russian as they sat sail. They were headed to their doom. The entire sleeper cell would be eliminated once they set foot in Russia. It was part of their duty, they would not mind the honourable death. Besides, what did he have left to live for, now that the only man he’d ever truly loved was dead? Briefly he wondered if the body had been discovered yet. He didn’t like to think of Steve laying there like that. He hoped they gave him a good send off. Full armed guard, gun salute, all that jazz, he deserved it.

He stepped up onto the old trawler, greeting faces he had not seen since he was a young child. As they celebrated, his mind came back to the bomb at the church. He asked Vasili who had planted it. The old man shrugged, shaking his head. Before he could answer, an all too familiar voice came from the doorway.

“I did, comrade.”

Impossible.

He was dead.

James turned, eyes wide as he took in the man standing before him.

“Steve...”

Steve walked towards him, hands coming to rest on either side of his face, “Yasha” he whispered before slanting their lips together. Bucky clung to him desperately, barely believing what was happening. When Steve pulled back, his eyes bore into Bucky’s, trying to communicate something. Bucky glance over his shoulder, and he understood. He nodded almost imperceptibly. They ducked.

Shots ripped through the boat, killing the dozen men still standing. Steve and Bucky stood, surveying their dead comrades for a moment, before turning to one another.

“How the hell did you rig that up?”

“You have your skills, I have mine.” Steve said, speaking in Russian. Bucky almost swooned. 

“This is- I thought you were...”

“I know. We should leave. Now”

“Yeah.”

***

“So what do we do now?” Bucky asked that night in their hotel room. Steve came back into the bedroom, gloriously naked.

“I’ve been thinking about that. We could settle down somewhere discreet and live average hum-drum lives,” At Bucky’s screwed up face he started to laugh. “I’m kidding, don’t worry. We could start up as hired guns, assassins, con artists. Our skill sets are highly marketable.”

“Black-marketable.”

“Of course. What would life be without a little danger, eh?” He leaned down and pulled Bucky into a kiss that quickly turned dirty and soon had Bucky writhing in the sheets. In that moment Bucky honestly couldn’t care if they never left this bed.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, if you even made it this far, you deserve all the hugs. And cookies. Take all the cookies. 
> 
> -A x


End file.
